Obsession
by mindlessmentalejaculation
Summary: How could he refuse, he thinks nervously, every and each time, when she looks at him like that?


Her dark red waves fall down her back looking like fountains of blood, almost iridescent eyes gaze at him not quite hidden by her long, thick eyelashes. She licks her lips and he feels, again, a gush of heat enveloping him violently. Despite her usual inconspicuousness , she burned her presence hard in his eyelids, even when she isn't near, he can feel her presence trailing near him.

When he gets up he feels an arm grab his shoulder, pail freckled hands and long, blood red nails gripping him. She mouths 'room of requirements' and returns to her meal, as if he was never there. How could he refuse, he thinks nervously, every and each time, when she looks at him like that?

She enters the room quietly, but as always he feels her presence- It's something between a hit in the gut and a schoolboy in love sort of feeling, dancing with the devil surrounded by angels with shotguns sensation; between excitement and dread mixed with pain mixed with pleasure. She glides to him and their lips meet and the instant feeling of something wrong shoots through, the feeling of opening a door to a whole new world while not sure you can handle it, the feeling of throwing away yesterday for an uncertain tomorrow, of leaving everything behind.

And as his hands caress her body, traveling lower along with the heat, they breathe fire and gasp thunder, and the touch is electric, almost painful, and they did it before, and they'll do it again; His lips explore her body and she shudders with anticipation, burning him with her fingers, her nails, her lips, her tongue; oh her tongue- And he burns her as well, burns her from inside, burns her all over, with his green, green eyes taking in her every shiver and comprehending her every need, his hands trailing ever-so-gently, and his member pounding and twitching and itching and just existing there, inside of her.

And they fight and they hate and they need and they love this feeling, this emotion, this obsession that ruined them for themselves and each other- it's all fucked up, they're driven insane and tainted and they can feel their souls sinking to darkness. It's wrong on so many levels, but when they look at each other with lust and love filled eyes driven by urgency and urgent lunacy they remembers the filth on the streets and the trash we call the human race, the raped daughters and the abusive fathers, the true psychopaths and serial killers, and they remember their contempt for the world and feel as if they're doing something so wrong that it is right, as if they're showing the true colours of the world with their despiteful act, as if the whole world is beneath their feet and they're crushing it with their fucking magnificence. As if their sins are being washed away by new ones.

As if they're is gods.

As if they're telling god to go fuck himself.

And the feeling is so fucking pure and overwhelming and dark, as if it has crawled from the pits of the lowest circles of hell. And the feeling is water, and they've been in a dessert their whole lives, and it's a dream and they're insomniacs, and it has been the thing they spent their whole, short, meaningless existences pining and searching for, and in that moment, it's their meaning.

He enters her once more and they're in heaven and in hell once again, caught in a limbo between guilt and addiction, biting and grabbing and scratching and crying and laughing and hating and she starts tightening in waves and his body grows limp and she screams and he growls and she pleads and he complies and it is bliss as she looses her grip, and nothing else exists and-

And, for a moment, she is dead.

And, for a moment, he is the killer.

And then he lays, finished, gasping and empty, she starts kissing him gently, breaking his heart with every brush of her lips and sigh against his skin, and he reciprocates with equal measures, and they do it again and again until they are ruined with guilt and self-deprecation, and when they do, the bliss washes over and they are empty again- their eyes no longer glazed with lust, their bodies shivering with disgust.

"We must never repeat this." She whispers and he silently agrees as they pick up their clothes, torn apart by the conflict of their emotions. While picking up his glasses, he darkly comes to two conclusions;

The peak of hedonism is self-destruction,

And it is, now, too late


End file.
